


all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put me together again

by amainiris



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Festivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-10 03:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21454504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amainiris/pseuds/amainiris
Summary: But Brienne was looking at her and smiling now, with those white, white teeth, and spoke to Sansa softly, as if she knew exactly what she’d been going to say. “Don’t worry,” she said, and reached out briefly to touch the younger woman’s cheek. A flush of heat rushed through Sansa at the spot. “I don’t usually lose.”In which Sansa finds her true knight after all.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters(minor), Sansa Stark/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put me together again

**Author's Note:**

> For my dear friend Steph :)

It was like something out of Sansa’s childhood fantasies, but it was real.

How dumb, Arya had always said, to dream of brave knights and beautiful ladies when you lived in _ Minnesota. _ But Sansa knew her little sister loved it too. For all their differences (and there were many), they had a singular interest in the past, in what there used to be.

And that day they climbed with their older brothers into Jon’s beat-up Jeep Cherokee, the two girls sitting in the back, Arya snapping bubble gum as they drove. Beyond them, around them, the plains ran free; Sansa had always found something strangely romantic about them, all that empty sky-swept space, the wind-curled grass. As they drove Robb put on some obnoxious rock music that Sansa hated and Arya and Jon exchanged playful jabs and Sansa half-closed her eyes and smiled for the first time in a long while.

It had been two weeks since she’d broken up with Joff, and while it hadn’t been violent, it almost felt like it could have been. Joff had never laid a hand on her, never struck her, but his words had been knife-like, serrated and merciless, and he’d bullied her--bullied her about _ everything _ really, her freckles and red hair and 5’10 frame. _ Everything _. Now when Sansa looked in the mirror, it was incredibly difficult to tell who was looking back: her old self, or the descendant of who she used to be?

The Renaissance Festival made something lift in her chest, though, something she hadn’t felt in some time. The flagrantly-colored tents, the little tipsy leaning pub promising ale and spirits, the shoppes lining the little dirt boulevards. Arya wanted to see the weapons--of _ course _she wanted to see the weapons--but Jon and Robb both wanted a pint, and so Sansa was left to go to the forge with her little sister.

There was only one young man working there, to Sansa’s surprise, muscled like a bull and with storm-black hair. When he lifted his head to face them, she was struck by how good-looking he was; his features were fine without a trace of femininity, his eyes a blaze of predawn blue.

“Hi,” Sansa said, a little shy. “My sister and I, we just wanted to--”

“What is that?” Arya asked immediately, cutting Sansa off and leaning towards the forge. But the young man immediately put his hands on Arya’s shoulders and eased her back, concern on his honest features.

“You don’t want to get too close to that,” he warned, and to Sansa’s absolute shock she saw Arya flush.

“But I don’t mind the heat,” Arya said stubbornly.

“But I don’t feel like calling an ambulance,” he replied, and Arya snorted. Sansa smiled a little, despite herself.

“Gendry?” Sansa swiveled at the sound; it was a female voice, low and oddly soothing, and was coming from a tall young woman at the edge of the tent. _ Taller than me, even, _Sansa thought, and flushed stupidly. The woman wasn’t a classic beauty at all, but there was something intriguing about the unevenness of her features, the delicate mouth and nose, and Sansa thought she’d never seen such wondrous eyes.

“Do you have my lance?” Her eyes skipped from Arya and Sansa and then back to the young man named Gendry. “New fan club, huh?”

Gendry just shook his head and ignored the jibe, but Arya watched him regardless.

“D-do you joust?” Sansa asked the tall young woman, trying not to sound too surprised. Wasn’t it usually _ men _ who jousted, not women? Wasn’t it usually _ men _who were knights?

The woman must have seen the look on Sansa’s face, and couldn’t hide a slight smile. Her teeth were very slightly uneven, and very, very white. “Yes,” she said with a composed ease, and motioned to Gendry. “And Gendry helps me out as best he can.”

“Brienne, you don’t even need my help,” he said dismissively, but moved to hand her a lance anyway. It was very long, and looked formidable, but something squeezed worryingly in Sansa’s chest anyhow. Could she really take down all of these full grown men in a joust? Brienne didn’t even look that much older than Sansa’s nineteen years.

But Brienne was looking at her and smiling now, with those white, white teeth, and spoke to Sansa softly, as if she knew exactly what she’d been going to say. “Don’t worry,” she said, and reached out briefly to touch the younger woman’s cheek. A flush of heat rushed through Sansa at the spot. “I don’t usually lose.”

  
  


Sansa sat in the jousting stands, knee-to-knee with Arya, who was consuming something butter-slathered and sugary at an alarming rate. It didn’t matter, though; nothing had ever altered her reed-thin sister’s frame.

She watched the jousting mostly through a daze, waiting for the tall woman with the robin’s egg blue eyes to mount her gelding, balance the shield and tilt her lance. Why, she had no idea; she wasn’t gay, wasn’t even bi, really, (right?), but God, the _ softness _in her smile, the easy gentle brush of her fingers against Sansa’s cheek. So unlike Joff, she’d thought at once, but then, she’d been wrong before.

Yet when Brienne crashed into her opponent, the man’s lance almost shattering her shield right through, Sansa gasped and covered her mouth.

“Gotta crush?” Arya mumbled through a mouthful of sugar and butter.

“No,” Sansa snapped, elbowing her before gesturing to where Gendry stood watching the events at a safe distance. “Do _ you? _”

Arya rolled her eyes.

But Brienne didn’t come close to falling the next round, or the next. In fact, she never came close to being unseated again. She _ was _good, Sansa acknowledged, and something caught in her chest--a strange fondness, a heat whose source she couldn’t trace. She wondered how old she really was, if she worked or if she went to school, if she liked to bake or to read--

_ Maybe knights exist after all. _

Somehow it wasn’t a surprise that Brienne emerged as the victor of the joust, her pale hair slicked with sweat and blue eyes enormous, but what happened next was enough to steal the breath from Sansa’s chest. A blue rose in her hand, Brienne trotted the grey-spotted gelding to where Sansa stood in the stands, and inclined her head. 

“For the loveliest maiden at the tourney,” she said, and something inside of Sansa’s chest squeezed tight, so tight. “For my queen of love and beauty.”

And Sansa did smile, then -- truly -- as she took the rose and cradled it against her chest. “The rose,” she blurted out stupidly, “It matches your eyes. You have the prettiest eyes.”

The older girl met her gaze. “So do you.” And with that, Brienne smiled her uneven smile, somehow all the more attractive for its imperfections, and left Sansa sitting in the stands with a rose clutched in her hands and something even lovelier blooming in her heart.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“So, you have a good time?” Arya knocked her hip against Sansa’s as they made their way to Jon’s Jeep in the falling light, the high grass brushing against their bare knees and the black trees wind-curled in the distance.

“Yeah,” Sansa said at once, and flushed a little despite herself. “Did you?”

“Uh--”

“Oh my _ God _,” Sansa said, turning. “That Gendry guy gave you his number, didn’t he?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Maybe. Now fuck off. It’s not like he gave me a _ rose. _”

“No,” Sansa said, trying to hide her smile as she twirled the stem between her fingers. “No, he didn’t.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
